


when there's no ground

by walkthegale



Category: Holby City
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Trapped In Elevator, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkthegale/pseuds/walkthegale
Summary: Bernie and Serena have a day. It doesn't go quite the way they'd planned, but neither of them is complaining. (Stuck in a lift trope!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmic_llin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_llin/gifts).



> I asked for prompts on Tumblr (http://walkthegale.tumblr.com/post/158073268776/prompt-me) and cosmic_llin prompted: "BERENA STUCK IN A LIFT". This was a much longer result than I'd expected to write!

Serena’s bed is always exceedingly comfortable, because she believes firmly in giving herself all the tools needed for a good night’s sleep, even if she doesn't often achieve the thing itself. And now her bed has Bernie in it, a blonde mop of hair poking out from a mound of duvet, face buried in the pillows, making the prospect of leaving it even less enticing than usual. She snuggles down, resting an arm across Bernie’s warm back, moving quietly and carefully, but Bernie shifts anyway, ever the light sleeper. Serena wonders sometimes, whether Bernie really slept at all, in all those years abroad, or whether she somehow got by on frequent catnaps and light dozes, always ready for the inevitable trauma call. Though if Bernie’s this incredibly competent in a state of constant sleep deprivation, it’s entirely possible that on a full eight hours, she might actually be a superhero.

The alarm goes off again. It sounds angrier this time.

Bernie opens her eyes and gives Serena a dopey smile, and Serena can’t resist kissing her lazily, as though there’s nothing in the world but the two of them.

“We need to get up,” Bernie warns her, slightly muffled by the kiss, and Serena has to admit she’s right.

Serena has her morning routine down to a fine art. She showers like she’s afraid someone might cut off the hot water halfway through, efficient and to-the-point. She likes to be out of the bathroom, a towel around her hair, halfway into the clothes she picked out last night, before her brain has had time to fully register that she’s awake. It’s either that, or she’d stay in bed all morning, wrapped around Bernie, letting AAU set itself on fire without them both. There isn’t really a middle ground.

The other part of this equation though, the one that Serena hasn’t yet managed to factor into her immaculate timing, is Bernie herself. Bernie showers like it's a religious experience, the water set to boil-a-lobster levels of heat, her eyes closed and her face turned blissfully upwards. She’ll take care over every step; soap, shampoo, conditioner, each one given reverential treatment, with copious time devoted in between to just standing under the spray. Serena commented on it once, and Bernie, utterly unselfconscious, told her that this was something she had promised herself, one night in an abandoned, rubble-strewn village, with dirt and sand stuck to four days of sweat and someone else’s blood long-congealed in her hair, that she would never take a proper shower for granted again.

It’s a lovely, precious thing, and so beautiful to watch. But today it’s also going to make them late for work, and if Serena doesn’t get to stop for coffee on the way in, she won’t hold herself responsible for how many F1s get their heads bitten off.

She’s all but tapping her foot by the time Bernie emerges, but the acerbic remark on the tip of her tongue doesn’t survive the enthusiastic kiss Bernie greets her with, wearing nothing but a towel not quite long enough to preserve her modesty. 

“Wet,” she complains, as Bernie’s hair drips onto her clean blouse.

“Mmm,” Bernie agrees, raising an eyebrow, her hands wandering idly over Serena’s bottom.

“Not what I meant!” Serena gives Bernie a half-hearted shove in the direction of her pile of clothes, knowing exactly how much she’s failing to hide her own flush and quickened breathing. “We need to leave in the next five minutes, or we’ll hit the worst of the traffic on City Road, and I’ve got that awful meeting this morning…”

Fortunately, Bernie doesn’t take nearly as long to get dressed as she does to shower, and the entire rest of her routine seems to consist of towelling her hair dry, and sticking on some hasty lipstick and mascara in front of the passenger seat mirror of Serena’s car.

By some miracle (and Serena putting her foot down on the accelerator slightly harder than was perhaps advisable), they beat rush hour, and make it to Holby with time to spare. Serena finds as secluded a space as the staff car park can offer, which isn’t really at all, and makes good use of the extra minutes before their shifts start, disentangling herself from Bernie’s mouth only when she catches sight of Morven striding past the car, grinning widely and pretending not to have seen them.

She gathers her work brain while they queue for coffee, running over the agenda for the upcoming meeting in her head. She takes her first gulp of life-giving caffeine and starts to remind herself of her day’s to-do list as they head for the lift together and the doors shut behind them.

“You doing that laparotomy today?”

Bernie nods. “D’you want in?”

“You know I’d love to, but I’m not sure I’ll have the time. I’ll let you know after lunch.”

The lift stops and Serena steps forward, ready to face AAU and the packed day ahead of her.

It takes her a moment to realise that the lift doors haven’t opened.

Serena pushes the button for their floor again. She pushes the button to open the doors. She pushes the buttons for the other floors, methodically, jabbing them with steadily increasing frustration. Nothing.

She leans her forehead against the control panel and lets out a long breath. She’s aware of Bernie coming up behind her and resting one hand on her back, finding the emergency call button with the other. After a few moments of a faint alarm sound, Bernie has a short chat with the tinny voice that answers. They’re calling for maintenance, shouldn’t be long, usually turn up in half an hour or so, but you can never tell so best settle in, haha, isn’t it funny, this lift was making a weird noise yesterday too.

Serena bangs her head gently against the panel a few times. “ _Making a weird noise yesterday_. I bloody well hope they pay more attention to the patient lifts than the staff ones. Can you imagine - you might be bleeding from the head but you’ll have to wait half an hour for maintenance. Oh god, I’m going to have to tell Ric I won’t be at the meeting…” She rummages in her pocket for her phone, forehead still leaning against the wall, but her hand is shaking and when she pulls it out, the phone goes flying, smacking into the stubbornly closed doors with a dull clang. “Fuck!”

“Serena, are you claustrophobic?” Bernie’s hand is making small, soothing circles on her lower back.

Serena laughs, but it comes out high and thin. She turns around, finding Bernie’s arms ready to wrap around her and pull her close. “Few too many disaster documentaries with Jason, I’m afraid. Don’t really like to think about there being nothing under our feet.”

“Don’t think about it,” Bernie says, helpfully.

Serena pulls back to glare at her. “What an excellent idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“No, I’m serious.” Bernie lets go of her long enough to pluck Serena’s phone off the floor. Serena leans against the wall and puts all her energy into neither snapping at her again, nor hyperventilating. “What you’re going to do,” Bernie continues, “is phone Ric and let him know that he’ll have to cope with the meeting on his own.” She looks just a touch more pleased than she should at that thought. “And then you’re going to tell me all about, I don’t know, your childhood pets, or everything Edward ever did to piss you off, and we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

Serena lets out a snort of laughter, and takes the phone from Bernie. “Ok,” she breathes, slow and steady. “Ok.”

She phones Ric, and Bernie phones AAU, and then Serena slides gently down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor. Bernie sits down next to her, pressed against her side, warm and solid.

“So, what’s the single most unbearably irritating thing Edward used to do?”

Serena smiles and leans against Bernie’s shoulder. “While Edward’s many, many, _many_ faults are an excellent distraction, I don’t want to talk about him right now. I’d rather talk about you.”

“And my many, many, many faults?”

Serena elbows her. “I was thinking more about the things I’d like to do with you, when we get home tonight.”

“Oh?” Bernie is trying to sound blasé, but she doesn’t have Serena fooled even for a moment. Befuddling Bernie Wolfe will never, ever get old.

“Mmm, I was thinking, we haven’t had sex in the kitchen, yet.”

“Or the downstairs hall,” Bernie agrees.

“It would be nice, to tick off all the rooms. From a purely completionist standpoint, of course.”

“Of course.”

Serena shuffles closer still, looking at Bernie sideways. “We’ve never had sex in a lift, either.”

“Serena!” Bernie’s grinning, pointedly looking everywhere but at her. “We can’t, we don’t know how long they’ll be.”

“I know, I know, and can you imagine the gossip?” Serena sighs. “Wouldn’t it be fun, though?”

“Phenomenally.”

Serena isn’t surprised when Bernie kisses her, and it really is a wonderful distraction from her nerves. Bernie’s mouth tastes like coffee, reminding Serena that her own cup will be cold by now, half-drunk and forgotten on the floor beside her. She mourns it for a fraction of a second, before losing herself in the kiss, tangling her hand in the hair at the nape of Bernie’s neck.

She could kiss Bernie forever, she thinks idly, and never get bored. It’s not just the taste and feel of her, Bernie’s lips and tongue hot and soft and perfectly delicious, but also the sounds she makes. Little breathy whimpers and moans into Serena’s mouth as her tongue finds Serena’s, as she tugs at her bottom lip. Bernie does not choose to be quiet, Serena has recently learned. She wonders if that’s another hangover from the army - a little piece of rebellion against the days when she had to keep her assignations completely silent, completely secret.

Serena’s breathing hard now, as Bernie slides her hands under her coat, under her blouse, finding bare skin just above the waistband of her trousers and dragging her fingers over it, raising goosebumps in her wake. She breaks away from Serena’s mouth to place a sucking kiss low on her chest, at the edge of the neckline of her top, hard enough to leave a mark, and Serena’s glad she wore a scarf today that would conceal a multitude of sins.

She shivers and catches Bernie’s mouth again, kissing her hard, hands splayed across her back, wishing violently that she was touching skin rather than wool coat, holding her close close close. Bernie’s hand is roaming further now, up under her shirt, trailing along the edges of her bra, and Serena arches into her touch.

It’s the work of a moment for Serena to slide her leg across Bernie’s lap, closing that last bit of gap between them so she's straddling her, resting her weight on Bernie’s thighs.

"I thought we weren't doing this?” Bernie’s breath is hot against her neck, dotting tiny kisses along her jawline.

“We're not,” Serena gasps as Bernie nips at the soft skin of her throat. “But god, I want to.”

In response, Bernie’s hands move to her waist, her bottom, drawing her in tight, kissing and kissing and kissing, with a desperation that sears right through Serena, pulling her apart, stealing her breath, her thoughts. Nothing left but wanting.

Bernie’s phone rings. Of course it does.

“Yes? Marvellous, thank you,” she says into it, Serena still in her lap, her voice remarkably steady. Maintenance have arrived, she relays when she hangs up, and the breakdown isn’t serious. Five minutes and they’ll have them out.

They get up. Serena brushes halfheartedly at the dust on her knees, and tries to help Bernie straighten her hair, before dismissing it as a lost cause. She feels like she hasn’t caught her breath, like she might never catch it again.

Lipstick reapplied, clothes readjusted, handbags rescued, they’re probably about as respectable as they’re going to get. Bernie’s face is flushed, her lips swollen, but maybe no one but Serena will notice. She steps closer to Bernie, puts her mouth up to her ear. “Tonight,” she tells her. “The kitchen, and the hall, and the bed. I want you to think about it all day. I want to know you’re thinking about it.”

Bernie takes in a sharp breath, and Serena steps away, smiling, as the lift begins to move again, travelling the half a floor needed to deposit them at AAU.

They go to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely gratuitous smut - the rating has been raised to explicit accordingly!

Serena thinks she might have shot herself in the foot, somewhat.

She’s checking the results of someone’s MRI when she looks up and there’s Bernie, watching her intently from across the ward, a chart forgotten in her hands. Bernie smiles, raises an eyebrow, and Serena feels it, like all the air has been knocked out of her.

She takes a moment to imagine dragging Bernie into a storage closet somewhere to finish what they started in the lift. Alone, away from prying eyes, up against the wall, kissing her senseless, tugging Bernie’s scrub top over her head…

“Ms Campbell?”

Serena blinks. “What is it, Mr Fletcher?”

Fletch is grinning, which Serena tries to quash with her best severe look, hoping desperately that she isn’t blushing. _I want you to think about it all day_ , she’d told Bernie. Well, there was little doubt that was working, based on how many times she’s caught Bernie staring at her so far today, but she really hadn’t foreseen quite how much of a distraction that would prove to be. She doesn’t doubt that they’re both giving their patients their full attention when it’s needed – they’re consummate professionals, after all – but as soon as there’s any downtime, any tiny break between immediate concerns, any paperwork that needs doing, she’s a lost cause. And that meeting earlier… Not only had the broken lift made her miss half of it, but her concentration span had been exactly nil. She had thought she’d covered it up rather well, but Ric’s long-suffering expression suggested otherwise.

What she needs is a nice, complex surgery to perform. Something to really get her teeth into. Yes, that would definitely help.

She finishes talking to Fletch, and when she looks up again, Bernie has moved on somewhere else.

The day is busy, because it always is, and lunch time finds Serena hiding in the office, trying to catch up with some admin, waiting for the next interruption.

“Hello, you.”

“Bernie.” Serena can’t help smiling, and Bernie’s smiling back at her from the doorway, and god, how is she so beautiful?

If they hadn't been rescued so promptly from the lift, if they could have guaranteed just a little longer uninterrupted. Serena remembers sitting in Bernie’s lap, Bernie’s hands roaming, the desperation, the need in their kisses. If Bernie’s hands had had the time to wander just a little further, down between Serena’s legs, where she sat astride Bernie, barely a whisker of space between them but maybe it would have been just enough. _I thought we weren’t doing this?_ Bernie’s long, clever fingers finding just how wet Serena had been, touching her exactly the way she so badly wanted, their bodies pressed so close.

Serena licks her lips, takes a deep breath, tries to come back to herself. Bernie’s smile has become a grin, knowing and just a little feral. She veers away from her own desk, and reaches Serena, leaning down to give her a long, slow kiss, of the sort that they would never normally allow themselves on hospital premises, the sort that promised so much more.

They part reluctantly. Their hands stay twined as Bernie backs away.

“Tonight, Ms Wolfe,” Serena promises, again, as Bernie sits down at her own desk. “The very moment we get home.”

“The very instant,” Bernie affirms, her voice low and slightly breathless.

Serena’s chances of getting her admin done are shot to hell. Fortunately she has a thrombectomy to do that afternoon, which she could have done standing on her head, but it passes the time, and after that she finds herself playing mother duck to a couple of F1s who she’s sure should have been someone else’s responsibility, and once she’s managed to get rid of them, there are immediately three other cases that she’s urgently needed for.

Time marches on, and she hardly glimpses Bernie again before the end of her shift, which fact she considers fortunate, because she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t have dragged her up to the roof to find a secluded nook. The roof. Now that was a thought. Serena files it away for future contemplation.

For once, Bernie finishes work before Serena, and when Serena’s finally free, she finds her waiting in their office, Serena’s coat over her arm and a bright, innocent expression on her face.

“So,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Albie’s? Dinner at that new Greek place? Another few hours of work?”

“I thought I’d schedule a last-minute meeting with Henrik, and then host a cocktail party for twelve of our closest friends,” Serena counters. She takes her coat from Bernie, not letting herself get close enough to give in to the urge to kiss her.

She continues not to give in to that urge as they leave the hospital together, and while they walk across the car park, and when they get into the car. It’s quite the heroic effort, especially once the car door is shut behind them, but she perseveres.

Serena drove them to work that morning, and Bernie drives them home. The journey takes a thousand years, and Serena is definitely not squirming in her seat like a hormonal medical student. Bernie jumps when Serena’s hand brushes hers, and then focuses hard on the road, talking aimlessly and pointedly about the weather.

Finally, finally, the front door shuts behind them and Serena shoves Bernie into the wall, plastering their mouths together. Bernie lets out an undignified squeak of surprise, but then her arms are already wrapping around Serena, pulling her in close. 

“That might have been,” Bernie pants between kisses, “the longest day of my entire career.” She tucks her hands inside Serena’s coat, starts at her hips, slides them up past her waist, under her clothing, finding skin and stretching out, fingers cool enough to make Serena shiver. “Including seventy-two hours on duty when Haines was shot.”

Serena starts and pulls back a little.

“Oh, he was fine. Shot in the leg. Went home for six months and came back right as rain. Not really in a fit state to perform surgery that day though.” Bernie catches Serena’s eye. “And this is not the most erotic topic of conversation, is it?”

“Heroic war stories? I think Hollywood might disagree with you there.” Serena purrs, making Bernie snort with laughter. She illustrates her point with a kiss, shifting her stance so that her thigh presses firmly between Bernie’s, and enjoys that Bernie’s hips immediately cant towards her, that her laugh turns into a low moan into Serena’s mouth.

It doesn’t take much for Serena to arrange things so that Bernie is sitting on the floor with Serena astride her legs again, shoes and coats and bags discarded, kissing her like she’s been waiting forever, which she feels a little like she has. Every nerve ending is tingling, every bit of her so much more than ready for Bernie to touch her. And Bernie can’t stop touching her, her hands everywhere, running up Serena’s thighs, over her back and sides, under her blouse, thumbs brushing over her nipples and making her whimper and shift in Bernie’s lap.

Bernie has Serena’s trousers unbuttoned, and Serena forces herself to back away, to stand up just long enough to pull them off, along with her underwear, thoroughly aware of the intensity of Bernie watching her, Bernie’s hands on the backs of her bare thighs as soon as she’s done. She takes a moment to revel in the unmasked lust and adoration in Bernie’s dark eyes, looking up at her through her fringe, then she drops back down to her knees, cupping Bernie’s face in her hands as she kisses her, the fabric of Bernie’s jeans rough against her inner thighs.

Bernie keeps one strong hand on her hip, steadying her, and slides the other up the inside of her leg, stopping just before she reaches the top. She breaks the kiss and meets Serena’s eyes again, her body utterly still, waiting.

Serena, coiled taught with pent-up desire, knows this game. “I want you to touch me,” she tells Bernie, her gaze unwavering. “I want you inside me. Now, Major.”

Benediction sought and given, Bernie Wolfe – intractable, authoritative, relentless Bernie Wolfe – obeys.

Serena knows how wet she is, how ready, and Bernie slides two fingers inside her easily, leaves them there for just a moment, and then adds a third, and Serena moans, grabs onto Bernie’s shoulders to keep her balance. Bernie’s fingers curl, deep in Serena’s cunt, and she rubs the ball of her thumb over Serena’s clit, a firm, even pressure that makes Serena gasp. “That’s good,” she says, her voice wavering. “God, that’s good.”

She grinds down against Bernie’s hand, and Bernie matches the rhythm of her movements with thumb and palm and fingers, against and inside and right there, teasing out the tension of the day, gathering and amplifying, taking Serena right to the very peak, until nothing else matters, her whole being focused on Bernie, Bernie’s hand, Bernie touching her.

It doesn’t take long, not after a day like this one. She comes with her eyes open, her breathing harsh and ragged, her gaze locked on Bernie’s, fluttering and clenching around Bernie’s fingers. Bernie watches her when she comes with something a little like worship, a little like reverence.

Serena collapses against Bernie in the aftermath of her orgasm, and Bernie’s free arm wraps around her, the other staying in place for a moment, then gently withdrawn as Serena gathers herself, catches her breath. She notices, after a while, that her blouse has slid down her shoulders, so she shrugs out of it, and Bernie, ever helpful, follows that by relieving her efficiently of her top and bra as well, dropping gentle kisses over each breast. She could curl into Bernie’s embrace like this, naked and peaceful, and stay forever.

Although she's also aware that her knees are beginning to protest, and that there are a number of enjoyable things on today’s to-do list that she has not yet accomplished.

Bernie has leaned her forehead against Serena’s chest, so Serena puts one finger under her chin, and nudges Bernie’s face up to look at her, bending to meet her with a thorough and pointed kiss. “Upstairs,” she tells her. “Now.”

It takes them a moment to disentangle their limbs and stand up, and once they do, it takes them even longer to actually get up the stairs. Serena takes Bernie’s hand and leads the way, but it turns out that there's a limited amount of time that Bernie can follow Serena’s naked back before she grabs Serena’s waist and spins her around to kiss her, holding her tightly enough that the buttons of her shirt indent Serena’s skin.

Serena swats at her, laughing. “We’re going to fall down the stairs!”

“We won't,” Bernie tells her. “I've got you.”

They make it to the bedroom eventually, delayed briefly again against the doorframe, both breathless and each reluctant to break contact with the other.

“Get on the bed,” Serena directs once they're in the room, and Bernie lies down, propped against the pillows, her smile warm and open and eager.

Straddling Bernie’s legs for the third or fourth time that day, more if you count fantasies – and she still can't quite always believe that this is something that she actually gets to do, with Bernie Wolfe of all people – Serena, moving at an unhurried pace, undoes the buttons of Bernie’s shirt, one at a time. When she reaches the last one, she leans down to press a kiss to Bernie’s stomach, feeling Bernie’s muscles tense and quiver under her lips.

She kisses her way up Bernie’s body in a leisurely fashion, eliciting little gasps and moans, pausing briefly at Bernie’s breasts, to drag her tongue over each nipple through the thin cotton of her bra. When she gets to Bernie’s collar bone, Bernie reaches for her and Serena stops to catch her eye. “No. Stay there.” She thinks her voice cracks a little on the last word but she's otherwise pleased with how stern she sounds. Bernie looks defiant for a fraction of a second but then subsides, grinning, watching Serena from under lowered lashes. “Good,” Serena tells her and turns her attention to Bernie’s neck, where the skin is soft and smells so deliciously, perfectly of Bernie, and Serena finds herself nipping and sucking, leaving a mark to match the one that Bernie left on her in the lift that morning,

By the time Serena reaches Bernie’s mouth, Bernie’s whole body is taut beneath her, and Serena can tell she’s fighting not to wriggle and whimper. She kisses her almost lazily, and lets one of her legs slip between Bernie’s, smiling against Bernie’s lips when Bernie twitches and tightens her thighs. Serena allows it for a moment, falling deeper into the kiss, Bernie shifting her hips against her and humming her pleasure into her mouth.

Serena pulls back, ignoring Bernie’s little murmur of protest. She sits up, moves her leg deliberately out of Bernie’s reach, and takes a moment to admire Bernie lying beneath her, lips parted and eyes glazed, her clothes in disarray. Too many clothes, still.

Undressing Bernie is like unwrapping the best present she could imagine. She finishes taking Bernie’s shirt off, and her bra, and spends some time appreciating each gorgeous breast with fingers and lips and tongue, until Bernie is panting and moaning. After a little while, Serena moves on, back down Bernie’s body, positioning herself between Bernie’s legs, her fingers deft on the button of her jeans. She peels Bernie out of them, tugging them down and dropping them onto the floor, and for another moment, just a moment, all she can do is look, and breathe, resting her hands on Bernie’s knees.

“Please, Serena, please,” Bernie grates out, her hips arching off the bed. She’s being good though, she won’t touch herself, won’t touch Serena, unless she’s told she can.

Serena slides her hands the length of Bernie’s thighs, draws her fingertips ever so lightly over her pants, finding them damp and enjoying how wet Bernie must be underneath. Bernie bucks at her touch, makes a soft keening sound that turns into half a sob when Serena moves her hand away again, stroking small, gentle circles around the tops of her inner thighs.

“Se-Serena.” Bernie jolts under her touch as Serena brushes close to her centre again. “Serena. Serena. Oh god, Serena.” It’s an invocation, a helpless devotion, the point at which, in this moment, Serena’s whole world turns.

“Tell me what you want,” she instructs, breathlessly.

“I want… I want… Oh god...”

“Mmm?” Serena prompts, hooking her fingers into Bernie’s underwear and pulling them over her hips, down her legs. “What do you want, Berenice? What do you want me to do?” She knows that Bernie is a hair’s breadth from grabbing Serena’s hand and putting it exactly where she wants it, but Serena wants her to say it, wants to hear her say it. She skims the length of Bernie’s labia with just one fingertip, barely touching her, as encouragement, and Bernie whimpers and writhes, tries to find some purchase, some pressure, but Serena won’t let her. Nearly, but not quite.

“I want, god, Serena, Please touch me, please. I want you. I want you to fuck me. Serena, please,” the words burst from her in a rush, breathless and pleading and, called upon, Serena will always answer.

Serena’s fingers find Bernie just as wet as she had known she would be, sliding her fingers through soft heat, over her entrance and around her clit, and Bernie cries out, a long, desperate sound, curving her body into Serena’s touch. Serena’s motions are slow and deliberate, drawing firm circles over Bernie’s clit, increasing speed and pressure just a bit at a time as Bernie’s gasping moans tell her exactly what she needs to hear. She watches Bernie’s face, her head tipped back and her eyes shut, mouth moving around half-words that she won’t manage to say.

Serena has one last permission to give. “You can come,” she tells Bernie, and Bernie does, loudly and enthusiastically, with a cry that’s almost a scream, and a series of full-body shivers that will make Serena feel rather proud when she thinks about it later.

She crawls up the bed and presses herself full-length to Bernie’s side, draping an arm over her waist, and waits for Bernie to recover, tracing light patterns on her skin with still-wet fingertips.

They lie together for a while, quiet and content.

"We didn't make it to the kitchen," says Bernie, presently.

Serena grins, kisses the corner of Bernie’s mouth. "The night is young."


	3. Chapter 3

They do make it to the kitchen, eventually, but it’s mostly in pursuit of food, once Serena’s stomach reminds her quite how long ago her lunchtime sandwich was.

Bernie is a surprisingly adept cook, something Serena appreciates greatly. It’s nice not to be the only one who cares what their dinner tastes like - Edward always shovelled food in so fast it didn’t seem to touch the sides and as a result produced meals that were mostly just bulky and tasteless, and Elinor liked to complain about her meals without ever once offering to help in the kitchen unless under great duress. Robbie had been a somewhat better about it all, but he wasn’t a very adventurous cook. Or anything else, really.

Serena has never yet seen Bernie work to a recipe - she throws pinches of this, dollops of that, and handfuls of the other into pots and what comes out is invariably delicious. She cooks best by the seat of her pants, the same way she does everything she’s good at.

So Serena boils some pasta, and Bernie pulls together an incredible sauce from the odds and ends she finds in Serena’s fridge, and they eat speedily but with great gusto at the kitchen table. Serena thinks she has probably never seen anything quite as beautiful as Bernie Wolfe, here in her kitchen, dressed in black knickers and one of Serena’s t-shirts, her long legs stretched carelessly out in front of her. Serena wrapped herself in a soft blue dressing gown when they left the bedroom, chosen carefully a few days before and left on the back of the bedroom door for just such an occasion, because the colour is good on her, and if she ties it just right, the neckline plunges between her breasts. She knows it was a good choice, because Bernie can’t keep her eyes off her.

They talk about work, and Jason, and an article Serena read, and Bernie tells a story about a disastrous family holiday that has Serena in fits of laughter. Serena catches herself thinking, again, often, that she could do this for a very long time. That she could perhaps do this forever.

After a while, Bernie gets up to put their plates in the sink, and Serena follows her. She steps up behind Bernie and brushes her hair to one side to place a kiss on her neck, enjoying how easily she can make Bernie shiver. She slips her arms around Bernie’s waist, just under the edge of her t-shirt, and stands just slightly on tip-toes to rest her chin on Bernie’s shoulder. Bernie sighs and leans back into her.

“It’s been a long day,” Serena murmurs. “You tired?”

Bernie turns in the circle of Serena’s arms, kisses the tip of her nose. “Fresh as a daisy. You?”

Serena knows a challenge when she hears one, and it's not like either of them is working tomorrow. She raises her eyebrow. “There’s life in the old girl yet.”

“Good.” Bernie kisses Serena fast and hard, backing her into the kitchen cupboards behind her. 

Serena’s squeak of surprise blends into a moan, low in her throat, and she snakes her arms around Bernie’s waist, pulling her closer. Bernie’s hands slide over silk, tracing the shape of Serena underneath and Serena arches into her touch, letting her legs part so that Bernie’s thigh slides in between them, Bernie’s weight pressing against her, pinning her in place. She breaks their kiss long enough to look up into Bernie’s face, to see her eyes widen slightly as she realises that Serena isn't wearing any knickers under her robe, as she feels warm, damp curls against her skin.

Bernie kisses Serena like every cliché about water in the desert, or oxygen for a drowning woman. She kisses her like Serena is the only thing in the world that makes sense, the only thing that matters, until Serena has no choice but to fall into her, aware of her own heartbeat and the feeling of Bernie all around her. Her legs don't really want to hold her up any more, but that's ok, she can settle against Bernie and Bernie will hold her there, and god Bernie's bare thigh feels so good as she grinds down against it.

She's still sensitive from earlier, more so than she realised. Bernie’s hand is moving lower, down between their bodies, and all Serena can do is shake her head wordlessly, taking Bernie’s hands in her own and putting them where she wants them - one on her back, holding her steady, one on her breast where her robe has fallen away. She can feel Bernie smile against her mouth, and Bernie’s thumb rub against her exposed nipple, and she gasps out her appreciation, wraps her arms around Bernie’s neck, her hips setting up a rhythm of their own against Bernie’s leg. A direct touch would would be too much, she couldn't bear it, but this, this delicious wet and sliding pressure, is perfect.

She feels Bernie clamp her own legs around Serena’s thigh, pulling her body in as close as it will go, and they rock together, the movements small but enough, Serena finding her own pace quickening, pushing down hard against Bernie, searching for the friction of her skin, for just that right point, to tip her building tension over the edge.

She hears Bernie whimper into their kiss, and Serena’s hips jerk and her orgasm sweeps through her, a gentler feeling than earlier, but no less intense. It leaves her breathless and boneless and trusting entirely that Bernie will hold her up.

In the quiet moments that follow, Serena hums her pleasure softly, words too far away to contemplate, her lips still against Bernie’s, panting breaths mingled together. As she recovers herself, she becomes aware of the ragged edge to Bernie’s breathing, of the way her hips are shifting against Serena’s leg, the tension running through her that means she’s desperately holding onto herself to give Serena the space she needs.

Serena unlocks her arms from around Bernie’s neck and makes enough of a gap between them to slip her hand into the black knickers that Bernie is somehow still wearing, the fabric now decidedly damp. Bernie makes a sound that's almost a wail as Serena’s cool fingers find her slick and swollen. Serena gives her a moment to adjust, circling Bernie’s clit with a fingertip once, twice, then moving to slide two fingers into her cunt.

Bernie groans, low and frantic, and grinds down on Serena’s hand, wet heat against her palm, her fingers moving inside Bernie. Bernie finds purchase against the heel of her hand, finds her own rhythm and Serena matches it. It takes so little time, and Serena watches Bernie’s face as Bernie loses control, as she comes apart, clenching and fluttering around Serena’s fingers.

They breathe, together. Bernie rests her forehead on Serena’s shoulder. Serena kisses the side of Bernie’s head.

They breathe, until, eventually, Serena becomes aware that she's a bit cold, and her legs ache, and the kitchen cupboard is digging into her back. She nudges Bernie gently. “My love. Let's go to bed.”

Bernie acquiesces, grumbling slightly as they disentangle their limbs. Serena is momentarily embarrassed separating herself from Bernie’s thigh. “I've made you so wet!” she catches herself saying and then grins when Bernie snorts with laughter.

Upstairs, they leave what little clothing they were wearing in a heap on the floor and collapse into Serena’s bed. Bernie falls asleep first, with her arm draped across Serena’s stomach, and her nose buried in her neck. Serena lies and listens to Bernie breathe for a while, and resolves not to tell her about the adorable muffled snoring.

***

A terrible ringing drags Serena back to consciousness after much less time than she would have liked. She contemplates it muzzily for a moment, and has got as far as being fairly sure they hadn't actually set an alarm last night, when the noise stops. She would be grateful, except that the absence of sound is accompanied by an absence of Bernie’s warmth next to her. Serena forces her eyes open, and is greeted by the delightful sight of Bernie standing next to the bed, stark naked.

It takes a few seconds’ awestruck contemplation for Serena’s sleep-addled brain to note that Bernie is on the phone, which, she realises, explains the ringing. 

“Yes, yes of course. I'll be right there.”

Serena’s heart sinks. “Oh no,” she says as Bernie hangs up the phone.

“Oh yes. Huge RTC, the trauma team are about to be swamped.”

Serena flops back against the pillows and lets out a long breath. “Bugger it.”

“Yes. I very much agree. Bugger it.”

“I had a lot of plans for us today, I'll have you know.”

Bernie shoves her fringe out of her eyes and half-smiles. “They're not cancelled, just… hold onto them for next time?”

Serena sits up again. “Abso-bloody-lutely.” She starts to untangle herself from the duvet. “When do they need us? I'll have to shower but I can be ready in ten minutes.”

“Serena, you don't have to. They only called me because it's a trauma situation, and it’s your day off…”

Serena is already halfway across the room to the bathroom. “And what exactly would I do here all by myself?” Bernie raises an eyebrow and grins, and Serena rolls her eyes. “It's so much less fun without you, darling. Hurry up, or I’ll make you drive.”

***

By the time she finishes her last surgery of the day, Serena can't quite work out how she's still standing. AAU is beginning to settle back down, as much as it ever does, and she allows herself the time to head up to the roof for a moment's fresh air.

The sun has set, at some point while she was up to her elbows in a teenage girl’s chest cavity, and it’s cold now. She's just wishing she had brought her coat, when the door opens and Bernie appears like a miracle, bearing a spare hoodie and two steaming Pulses cups.

“I love you,” Serena tells her, taking an enthusiastic gulp.

Bernie laughs. “Are you talking to me, or the coffee?”

“It's debatable.”

They sit on the steps, side by side, huddled over their drinks and enjoy the silence for a few minutes.

“Dinner at mine tonight?” Bernie asks, presently, and Serena hears the hesitation in her voice, as though, despite everything, she’s afraid that Serena might say no.

Serena smiles at her. “Lets pick up a pizza on the way?”

“Perfect. And I’ve a bottle of red in the cupboard with your name on it.”

“I don’t have to be back here until one tomorrow.”

“I know.” Bernie stretches languorously, her eyes sparkling in the half-dark. “Shall we get out of here?”

Serena heaves a sigh. “I have to finish a couple of things. I need about an hour, if you can wait?”

“I can just about manage that.” Bernie leans in. “But I’ll need something to tide me over.” She gives Serena a slow, coffee-flavoured kiss, slipping a chilly hand under Serena’s scrubs.

Serena melts into it for a moment and then pulls away. “Any one of the junior staff could come up here right now, and what sort of an impression would we be giving them?”

Bernie looks at her sideways. “Come off it, Serena. Since when are you so worried about that again? It’s not like the whole hospital doesn’t know we’re together.”

“Since Jac Naylor accused me of making ‘bedroom eyes’ at you across Theatre Two.”

Bernie chokes on her mouthful of coffee. “That’s rich, coming from her!”

“All the same, I do think we need to work on keeping things professional on the ward.” Serena let her eyes drift over Bernie’s body. “The fact that I find you irresistible is no excuse - if we were members of my team, I’d have shown no mercy for some of our recent behaviour.”

Bernie huffs but has to concede that she has a point, and that they should probably be a touch more discreet in the future. She also, however, steals another quick kiss before they head back inside, and Serena can’t bring herself to object.

***

That night, full of pizza and wine, basking in the afterglow of lazy, sleepy sex and with Bernie’s chin resting on her upper thigh, Serena contemplates going to work the following day with a growing sense of distaste.

“I just want to spend the day with you. I want us to spend a whole day in bed together. No work, no family, no friends, no snatching seconds in lifts and cars and god knows where. Just you and me, without a care in the world. Is that so much to ask?”

Bernie makes her way up the bed and kisses her, and she’s distracted for a moment by the taste of herself on Bernie’s lips. She almost loses herself in the kiss, but her train of thought is insistent and she keeps talking against Bernie’s mouth, much to Bernie’s amusement.

“No, Bernie, listen a minute - let’s go on holiday. You must be due a vast amount of leave, I know I am, so let’s take some of it. I can recommend some good locums, and the hospital won’t crumble without us for a week, or a fortnight even. Can you imagine? A whole fortnight, just the two of us. We could go somewhere warm, and be waited on hand and foot, and drink cocktails by the pool all day…”

“And I could fuck you all night, and no one could call us with an emergency at six in the morning?” Bernie finishes for her, and Serena shivers at the directness of her words, which she’s aware is faintly ridiculous when she had been coming under Bernie’s tongue not ten minutes previously.

Bernie kisses her then, so thoroughly that Serena is left gasping. “We’ll book it tomorrow,” she promises, and her smile is like the sun.


End file.
